


deja vu

by ancientglowstick



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain Marvel (2019) Spoilers, Don't Ask Don't Tell, F/F, I can't believe that has to be a tag, Lesbian Character of Color, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, No Lesbians Die, Post-Captain Marvel (2019), really this is just a bunch of vague description, secret lesbians, southern lesbians, that hopefully hits like old memories, why isn't there just a plain lesbians tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientglowstick/pseuds/ancientglowstick
Summary: A lifetime washed away is not easily undone. A new life is not easily begun. But, with the right woman beside her, Carol gets a chance at both.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	deja vu

Six years is a long time. Six years is the difference between an unbreakable bond and fading memories. Six years is the difference between hope and resignation.

If you’re lucky, you can remember who you were six years ago. If you’re not, chances are that person will live in a hazy shadow, hidden in a cardboard box of nostalgia with the label completely faded away, for the rest of your life.

Everything at this house weeps déjà vu. Feelings of a life not fully remembered, but tangible all the same. The peeling paint, the dining table, the wide lawn, the tiny plane. The steadfast woman who lives there, whose olive jumpsuit recalls a base and a uniform. The dimpled girl who lives with her. A stained bomber jacket. Blurry photos of karaoke night.

There’s a small table by a window in the back of the deja vu house. It’s pushed against the wall. The woman sits there often, yellow lamplight playing off her dark skin, watching the girl dance with weeping willow branches through the glass. In the other chair, a blonde, square-jawed friend. Six years gone, one year risen. There are still fuzzy patches in her past, but it doesn’t matter. The feelings come back more easily than the memories. The attic brims with cardboard boxes of nostalgia. They help.

The forgetful woman flips a splintered dog tag over and over in one hand. The steadfast woman pulls a coffee mug close to her face, relishing the warmth. Free hands ease closer, but never touch. It is enough, after such a long time, to just be together in the old house built on a Louisiana swamp. They don’t even have to look at each other. A face ethereal is hard to forget.

Six years gone, six years risen. The steadfast woman and the dimpled girl still live in the same old house. The forgetful one isn’t home very often. She moved away, or maybe her job has odd hours. Good Southern neighbors whisper questions about those strange girls who still haven’t married anyone yet, and the curly-haired teenager without a father. No one asks the strange girls about it themselves, and they don’t volunteer anything. There are only hushed tones and cracked doors. Hands held in the dark and secret rings sewn into uniforms. Weeping willow branches and peeling paint and déjà vu.


End file.
